


Gypsy Dream

by ragcat



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: AU, Derek Morgan - Freeform, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid - Freeform, Dreams, M/M, Moreid, Sexual Content, Spencer Reid - Freeform, criminal minds - Freeform, morgan/reid - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragcat/pseuds/ragcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thief, a liar. A magician, a prince. In Morgan's dreams, he was all of these.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morgan's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Morgan's startlingly vivid dreams alert him to something he's repressed for a long time—his love for Spencer Reid.

It was a late summer afternoon. The air was warm and thick in the town of Camden, Virginia, several miles outside of Monroe. 

In honor of the good luck he'd had at poker the night before, Derek Morgan was sporting the sharp new suit he'd bought with his winnings. It had rained earlier, and as he sauntered along the cobblestone street toward his hotel room, he raised his eyes to the darkened sky, and in spite of the gloomy weather, a slight smile played across his face. He had money in his pocket and a train ticket to New York City. 

He felt good. Things were looking up; he'd be back in civilization in no time.

*******

The boy was loitering by a food cart. 

He watched the dark-skinned man approach; his gaze lingered as he passed. Oh, he was handsome—a tall man, making long strides with a confident step, muscles flexing under his perfectly tailored attire. Rich brown skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that begged to be licked away... 

The boy considered for a moment, then scampered around a building and gained the advantage over Derek in the sparse afternoon crowd. He timed it so that he was walking a few paces in front of the well-dressed man. He carefully chose a large puddle and slapped his boot into it, sending a small shower of dirty water backward onto Derek's new trouser cuffs and freshly-shined shoes. Stunned, Derek stopped in his tracks and stared disbelievingly down at the mess.

"Aw, hell. _Shit._ Hey, now..." Surely it hadn’t been a deliberate act, but... He looked up from the ugly droplets marring his gleaming shoe leather to the slight figure disappearing into an oncoming throng of people. Nah, he thought, that was ridiculous—just a careless kid. Oh, well, nothing a bit of laundering and a good buffing couldn’t cure. But damn, what a pain in the ass, when all he wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. He irritably shook his head and picked up his stride again. 

He hurried along the boulevard and became engrossed in thought. Suddenly, a now familiar figure materialized ahead of him. He didn’t have time to notice another puddle nestled among the stones before a shower of muddy wetness splashed him below the knee. His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled into a snarl.

"Hey, youngster—you need to watch what you're doing!" This time he didn’t stop to examine the damage, in fact, he sped up—and, either coincidentally or instinctively, the young man did too—and now Derek was fairly running to catch up to him. The lad was wearing a battered black top hat, a tailored green crushed-velvet jacket and pinstriped trousers. His hair flew out behind him in a tangle of honey-colored waves. When Derek finally overtook him, he clamped a large hand onto his shoulder and spun the boy around.

The kid looked shocked, his face full of bewildered, wide-eyed innocence. _"Pardon, monsieur? Excusez-moi?"_

"You got me wet there, kid." Derek pointed to the splashes on his legs, the droplets on his shoes. "You need to watch what you're doing."

 _"Non, non._ It was not me. You are... crazy?" The boy spoke with a thick French accent and made a swirling gesture around one ear.

Derek pursed his lips. "I'm not the crazy one. Look, be on your way, but try not to be so careless, all right?"

The boy shrugged, and casually pulled a kerchief from his pocket. He squatted down and began "shining" Derek's shoes, much to his annoyance. He glanced around, embarrassed, and tried to pull away, but the boy had one ankle in a surprisingly strong grip, and Morgan grunted in consternation. "Hey! Hey, now, that's not necessary! Stop, just—leave me alone, will you?" He gave his foot a good yank and freed himself, then smoothed down his jacket in a vain attempt to regain his dignity. 

The boy gazed up at him, concern awash in his huge, long-lashed brown eyes. He spread his hands apart appealingly. "I help. Is not good?"

"No, it's _not_ good! Just—run along now, all right? Jeeze." 

The boy gave him a look of profound hurt and betrayal, then slowly rose to his feet and turned away, head bowed, shoulders slumped. He trudged forward a few steps.

Then, he splashed a puddle back onto Derek.

"Hey! Damn it, boy!" Furious, Derek reached for him. Oh, if he got his hands on the skinny little bastard, he'd... "You need to be taught some manners!" The tips of his fingers skimmed the soft fabric of the boy's coat, but, at the last possible second the youth turned and easily skipped just out of reach, and damned if he wan’t laughing. His eyes were lit with mischief and a most beautiful grin transformed his previously serious face, revealing gleaming white teeth surrounded by full, delicious-looking lips. 

Now, Derek Morgan was a ladies' man. He was known in gambling houses up and down the Mississippi for his skill at unbuttoning a well-filled bodice and shimmying silky panties down over slim eagerly-parted legs, but it was a fact that, on occasion, he'd been inclined to take a bit of comfort in the arms of a certain sort of young man, as well. 

But, no one, male or female, had ever struck him right in the crotch the way this boy did.

It was the smile that stilled Derek’s steps, and the kid took the opportunity to skitter off, long gawky limbs seeming to move completely out of tandem with one another, but he was lightning-fast nonetheless. Derek went after him and after two more blocks, the boy stopped, dramatically supporting himself with his forehead buried in the crook of his arm against a building, gasping as if desperate for breath. Derek caught up to him, grasped him by the shoulder, whirled him around and pinned him to the wall. He raised a fist threateningly and looked into the boy’s eyes.

“You goddamn little brat, I ought to—”

Those eyes widened in apparent terror, and he struggled frantically to twist out of Derek’s grip, but the muscular man held him securely. Derek hissed, “Ease up, junior. I’m not going to hurt you. But, damn it, boy, you—" 

_You took my breath away._

The thought remained unexpressed as Derek sought to maintain a suitably menacing countenance while at the same time assuring the lad that he wasn’t about to experience a deservedly sound thrashing.

The boy had been panting as if his lungs were ready to burst, but suddenly his breathing returned to normal and Derek stared into what two seconds ago he would have sworn were two immensely frightened eyes. Now, those eyes were not only laughing at him, but it felt as if they were penetrating his soul. Derek felt something come over him, something he had no name for. The boy took an exaggeratedly deep breath, straightened, and casually brushed some unseen lint off his lapel. Derek could hardly believe it when the boy asked, _"Monsieur_ —you are hungry?" 

"What?"

"Ah, oui, you are hungry. I know. Come—I take you to place with delicious food. _C'est magnifique._ It will be, how you say? My treat—to make up for mess." He tsk'ed disapprovingly and gestured at Derek's pants, then tugged at Derek's arm, obviously confident that his offer would be accepted. Derek found himself being pulled along.

"Oh. Well... Okay. But—why? Why did you—" Before he could finish his question, the boy scampered ahead, turned and motioned for Derek to follow him. A number of unsavory motives ran through Derek’s mind—ambush, robbery, being lured into the hands of murderers hidden in wait—but somehow he didn't care. He followed like a goddamned Pied Piper as the boy led him down a dirt road to a clearing in the woods just outside of town to what appeared to be a gypsy camp. Food was cooking, and the aroma was intoxicatingly wonderful, reminding Derek of just how empty his stomach was.

Several brightly painted horse-drawn travel wagons were grouped in a circle. The boy led Derek to one and he opened a weather-beaten wooden door. Inside, tattered burgundy and gold velvet draperies and faded quilts were hung over windows and served as insulation on the walls. The boy smiled at Derek and shyly spread his hands wide apart. _"Bienvenue_ —welcome to my home."

Derek looked around the small space. "You're a gypsy?"

The boy frowned for a moment, silently mouthing the apparently unfamiliar term. "Eh—‘gypsy?’” (He pronounced it ‘gzeep-zee.’) Then, he brightened. “Ah, oui! Yes. I am gypsy. And... I bothered you because I like you. I like... the way you walk. Such a man. I like... Your mouth. _Oui, votre bouche, monsieur,_ she is _tres jolie..."_ He put his arms around Derek's neck and kissed his lips firmly. Stunned, Derek stood motionless for a moment then peered into the boy's eyes. 

"You a whore, son?"

The boy's eyes widened, then turned dark. _"Un prostitue? Mais, non..._ such a thing to say. Non! I like you. That is all." He turned away, wrapping his arms around himself, clearly wounded. Then he turned back. "If that is what you think of me, monsieur, perhaps you should go. I am sorry for your clothes. _Je regrette._ I will pay for the cleaning of them." He took a drawstring bag out of his pocket and pulled it open. He counted out some coins, then held them out to Derek, who sneered irritably at them.

"I don't want your money! I just—I don't get you, kid. What the hell do you want from me?"

The boy bit his lip. "I only want kiss. And, to give food.” His hurt expression fell away and he brightened. “I bring?"

Derek took a deep breath, utterly discombobulated. The kid was so _strange,_ but so damned appealing. And, he’d been promised food, and he was hungry, so...

"Well... All right. That would be nice." 

The boy’s smile widened, and he ran outside, returning with two tin plates piled high with chicken and potatoes in some kind of aromatic sauce, with a thick slice of fresh bread on top. He gave a plate to Derek, then they made a place for themselves on the floor and ate with their hands, sopping up the gravy with the bread. 

"Stuff's hot!" Derek commented, mouth full.

"Hot? Oh, oui, yes. Gypsy food—the spice, she ignites the blood—to make one ready for love." The boy raised an eyebrow and gave a naughty grin that belied his age. Derek decided he'd better concentrate on his food, and not on how the boy's skin seemed to glow in the waning light, or how it looked like a sensuous act when his pink tongue came out to lick dripping gravy from his fingers.

After they finished, the boy took their plates and set them outside on the steps. He then pumped some water from a crock onto a cloth and knelt beside Derek. He took one of his hands in his and used the cloth to carefully clean Derek's fingers. He moved to Derek’s other hand, then wiped his own. He dabbed at his mouth and then impulsively leaned over and licked a small speck of food from the corner of Derek's mouth and smiled. He didn’t give Derek a chance to react before he kissed him again, his full lips lightly skimming Derek's spice-enflamed ones.

This time, Derek leaned into the kiss. The boy's mouth was warm and wet, with a cool little tongue that somehow slipped between his own lips to teasingly explore. It eased the burn, while at the same time hitting nerve endings that sent urgent messages down to Derek's cock. Derek slipped a hand around the boy's slim waist and pulled him closer—he wriggled into Derek's lap. He fit into all the hollow spaces, and he tasted sweet. 

He trailed a finger over Derek's cheek, down to his neck and chest. "You wish to make love with me?" he asked hopefully. Derek looked at the boy's face. He looked so young, so achingly young. 

"How old are you?" he whispered.

"Oh, I am not little boy." The kid shook his head emphatically and straddled Derek's lap, leaning back far enough that he could open the buttons of his trousers. He pushed the fabric down low so that Derek could see the curly blondish-brown thatch of hair impudently peeking out. He looked at Derek and pointed down at himself. "You see? I am man. Like you!" He laughed and Derek laughed, too.

"A man, huh? I don't think so. But, old enough, I guess. Okay, kid, let's... make love." Eagerly, fluidly, the boy stood up, then took Derek's wrists and pulled. Keeping one in his grip he led him to a heavy curtain strung up with rope and pushed it aside. Behind it was a bed with a fluffy feather mattress. He patted it, then pulled the curtain closed, making a tiny private room for them. The boy lit a small oil lamp that was fastened to the wall above the bed and it cast a warm yellow glow over the snug space. He began to take off his clothes, revealing a skinny, boyish body, then he turned to smile at Derek and gestured for him to strip too. 

When the boy was naked, he pulled back the covers and crawled onto the mattress. Derek quickly joined him and took the boy in his arms. He smelled of spices, fresh sweat... and rain. They melted together, warm velvety skin snug against skin, safe under the covers. The boy wriggled against him, kissing him happily. He took Derek's swollen, pulsing cock in his hand, then pushed back the blanket to give it a closer examination. He gaped and gave a low whistle of admiration.

"Oh, monsieur, you are so big! _Mon Dieu. Votre penis—il est enorme!_ Never have I seen such a one in all my life. And, the testicles—so heavy—like, how you say? Ostrich eggs. Oh, _mais non, c'est imposible!"_ The boy was laughing with delight as he cupped and rolled them in his hand.

Derek laughed, too. He stroked the boy's bony back and admired his slender cock, a velvety, pink-tipped thing. It curved back, quivering, until the head almost touched the boy's flat little belly. Derek reached for it and squeezed; he enjoyed making him gasp as he rubbed his thumb in the already leaking slit. He looked at the youth’s face, yearning evident in his luminous eyes. 

"You're beautiful, kid."

The boy crawled on top of Derek, kissed his mouth, then slid lower, attending to his nipples, his belly, until he was on Derek's cock, licking, nipping. He suddenly looked up, his brow knit as though he were struggling with a particularly knotty problem. Derek frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, monsieur—I so wish to give you the—how you call it? Ah, yes, the 'blow job,' _mais... j'ai peur qu'il n'ira pas."_ He shook his head sorrowfully.

"Huh? I don't understand..."

"Ah... " The boy swirled a finger around the thick girth of Derek's cock then pointed to his mouth with a comical expression of grave concern. He stage-whispered, _"I think it not fit."_

Derek burst out laughing and caressed the boy's delicate face. He took his chin in his hand and moved it from side to side, jokingly studying his wide mouth and full lips. "I don't know, kid, that pretty mouth looks like it was made for it. Why not give it a try, and let's see?"

Thus encouraged, the boy set to the task. He tentatively took the head past his lips, and slipped his tongue all around the velvety circumference, making Derek moan. He inched him in a little deeper, holding the base of the heavy member at an angle, then pulled back and gave it a skeptical look. Derek tangled his fingers into the boy's hair and gently guided him back down, and he gave it another try. This time, damned if he didn't take in all but a couple of inches down his throat. Morgan hummed appreciatively.

"That's the way, boy. Keep going. I don't think you're gonna have any problem whatsoever."

The boy moved his head back and plunged down again. He did that a few times, then concentrated on just sucking the first few inches and playing with his balls, but he stopped when Derek strained too hard, got too close.

 _"Non, s’il vous plait—_ you will come inside of me? Yes?" 

Derek groaned. The thought of entering the boy made his balls feel as if they were going to explode. "Hell, yeah... got some oil or something?" 

The boy wiggled over Derek, reached below the bed and brought out a small ceramic pot. He pulled out the cork and smeared a glob of some kind of slippery goo on Derek's cock. He spread it evenly over the thick length, smiling at the task. When Derek was well slicked up, the boy rolled over onto his stomach and parted his legs. He reached behind himself and used the remaining slick to coat his snug entrance. He looked over his shoulder, making sure that Derek was watching as he invitingly nudged a fingertip at the crinkled little hole, spreading it open ever so slightly. 

"You can prepare me for the sex? Please, monsieur?" 

Derek nodded, salivating. If the kid was worried that he wouldn't fit in his mouth, he ought to be terrified of having his dick go into his ass, but that sweet hole was plainly in need of a good fuck. He gently slid a finger into the boy. He briefly wondered if this was new to the kid, but the desperate, joyous thrusts against his hand told him otherwise. He gently, gently worked at the tightness, amazed at the slick heat, until he felt the boy give, open up, then he got on his knees, spread apart the creamy round cheeks and slid the head of his cock into the eager, pink little hole.

He heard the boy groan deeply, felt him spread his legs wider, raise his butt higher, welcoming him in while pushing back against Derek's first controlled thrust. "Oh, monsieur... So good. You, your manhood—so big, I think you split me in two, non? Please—to go further? How you say—all the way?"

"Yeah, baby—my pleasure." Derek slid in deeper, until his pubic bone was pressed firmly against the cushion of the boy's soft bottom, leaving him whimpering and whining, wordlessly pleading. Derek pulled back, then thrust in again, a little harder and deeper this time. He gave the boy a chance to get used to his girth being inside of him, then began fucking him in earnest. The boy moaned and murmured in French, then reached for Derek's hand, clutching it to him as if seeking comfort. Derek whispered, "You okay, kid?" and heard a broken, _"Oui, oui. Si'l te plait, monsieur—baise-moi plus fort..."_

"Huh? What? I don't understand that talk."

"Please, monsieur—the fucking—make it harder!"

That, Derek understood. He redoubled his efforts and thrust with deeper, harder strokes into the tender channel. Soon, the boy's entire body shuddered and seized; he cried out, "Mon Dieu!" and Derek felt proud, knowing he'd made him come.

Now, Derek could concentrate on his own pleasure, and he quickly lost himself to driving in and out of the snug velvety-slick passage, reveling in the heat of the boy's willingly-given body. He clutched the thin hips tightly, pulling and shifting him as he needed, as he desired, and the boy just moved with him, moaned and made soft noises, offering himself, loving it.

Derek’s efforts soon rewarded him with sweet release, and he spurted thick ropes of come deep within the boy. He collapsed on top of him, letting the heat dissipate with his slowing heartbeat, and then he rolled off and pulled the youth around to face him. They wriggled into a twisted bundle, amazed, panting, smiling at each other. Derek gasped, "Tell me your name, kid."

"I am Spencer. And, you are?"

"Derek."

"Derek. De-rek." The kid said it with satisfaction, as if it were a coin he could hold in his hand. He burrowed into Derek with a sigh and before he knew it, the kid was sound asleep. Derek chuckled. He was warm, his skin soft, and his hair ruffled when Derek exhaled onto him. His gentle breathing was a rhythmic lullaby, and soon, Derek joined him in slumber.

*****

Morgan stood in front of the BAU coffee machine, irritably trying to work a kink out of his neck as he waited for the pot to finish its brew cycle. Hell, he didn’t know how much more coffee he could take without developing a case of the shakes, but he needed at least one more dose of caffeine to approximate being awake.

He hated nights like the one he’d just had; too much stress, not enough sleep. Even an extra long morning run hadn’t helped to restore his energy; he felt wrung out, like he was moving through mud. Plus, the unrelenting glare of the overhead fluorescent lights made his eyeballs hurt, and he wondered what the hell he’d done to make his back ache like a son-of-a-bitch.

“Wow.” Spencer Reid walked in and joined him, empty coffee cup in hand. “That’s, what, like your third cup? You’re getting to be as bad as I am.”

Morgan huffed a bit, then tiredly exhaled. “I think I’ve still got a long way to go before I’m as bad about coffee as you are, but yeah.” He shrugged. “Rough night.”

“Oh? Who is she?” Reid grinned as he poured his cup full of the thick grog.

“Ha ha. Nothing like that. I just... Man, I had some weird dreams.”

“Ah.” Reid finished doctoring his coffee and turned to lean against the break room counter, blowing at his drink to cool it. “Work stuff?”

“No, not exactly. It was kind of... Old-timey. And, you were there.”

Reid raised his eyebrows. “Me? Great. What happened, did I get shot with a musket gun?”

“No, no, you were... You kept pulling some stupid practical joke on me, and when I got mad, you offered me some food. And, you spoke French.” Morgan sure as hell wasn’t going to offer any further details, especially not about Reid’s age in the dream and absolutely nothing about the sexy parts, but he was curious to see if Reid could shed some light on the symbology behind his dream.

Reid’s brow was now knit in thought. “Well, that doesn’t really sound like something I’d do—offering you food, I mean. If I actually managed to get your goat with a practical joke, I’d just enjoy the ride.” Reid gave him an impish grin, then went back to thought mode. “So I spoke French in your dream? I do speak French, but I don’t believe you’ve ever heard me do it. That’s an intriguing aspect.”

They both stood there mulling it over for a moment, and then Reid shrugged and turned to top off his cup. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. If I have any insight into your dream, I’ll let you know, but it sounds fairly run of the mill to me.”

“Mm.” Morgan watched him head toward the door, then asked, “Reid?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“You ever dream about me?”

Reid eyed Morgan narrowly for a moment and then nodded. “Oh, yeah. All the time.” Then, he slid one hand under his sweater vest and rapidly moved it up and down, simulating heart palpitations. “You’re such a heartthrob, you know.” He chuckled at his own humor and left.

Morgan frowned and shook his head. “Great,” he thought. “Pretty Boy’s got jokes, now.” He downed the rest of his coffee and went back to his desk.


	2. The Dream Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's dream continues, and he decides to confide in Hotch about it.

Derek slept warm and content with Spencer nestled snugly in his arms, but eventually the young man twisted away from him and Derek just rolled over and got comfortable on his own. Then, later, Derek woke up shivering. He realized that the steamy heat of the day had given over to a frosty night, and the air in the small travel wagon was icy-cold. Derek pawed around for more covers, but the thin sheet and worn quilt that swathed him and the boy sleeping next to him were all he could find.

He huddled into himself and shut his eyes, hoping to ignore the chill and drift off to sleep again. Perhaps he did, because at some point he felt movement beside him, and he became conscious enough to realize that a warm down comforter was now mysteriously enveloping him and his companion. Spencer was asleep against the wall and for a drowsy moment, Derek wondered how he’d managed to fetch the extra cover without awakening him, but with warmth restored, and with the young man’s breathing so even and steady beside him, he eased back into sleep without a second thought.

*******

In the morning, Derek woke to a warm, curious hand sliding between his thighs. Spencer gently probed, investigating Derek’s skin with light touches of his fingertips that sent a shudder of pleasure through the older man. Spencer then picked up Derek’s soft cock and cradled it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it in a sure grasp. 

Morgan opened his eyes, feeling disoriented, but quickly found himself smiling into Spencer's bright eyes and mischievous grin. The boy continued to squeeze experimentally and he snickered when Derek’s member sprung to attention in his grip. Spencer snuggled against him and nuzzled his cold nose into Derek’s face, wanting kisses. Derek supplied him with plenty, moving down to suck deeply at the skin on his neck, then his chest, making his claim in red marks as he went. 

He gathered the youth as close to him as possible, caressed down his back and then clasped first one, then the other of Spencer’s warm, firm cheeks in his hand, making the boy moan and grind his erection against Derek’s hip. For a moment they lay there, each thinking of how it had felt the night before when Derek slid inside him, of how Spencer’s bare bottom had felt against Derek’s skin as the older man rutted into him.

Spencer began to stroke Derek’s hardening cock, and before too long, Derek reached for the small ceramic pot and greased up again. He rolled the boy onto his back and then took his mouth in a long, sweet, demanding kiss. Spencer greedily accepted it as he spread his legs wide apart and then wrapped them around Derek’s waist, locking his ankles against the small of his back. He undulated, causing his body to spasm upward in a desperate but vain attempt to somehow work Derek’s cock into himself.

Derek chuckled. “Mm, poor baby, you need it bad, don’t you? Well, so do I. And, I love having those skinny legs wrapped around me like that, but, let’s try this instead—” He pulled Spencer’s legs high onto his shoulders and then he took his cock in his hand and nudged Spencer’s entrance with the leaking tip. “This okay?” he asked, searching Spencer’s eyes for consent. Spencer eagerly nodded, and in one fluid movement, Derek drove his cock deeply into the already well-used little hole, meeting no resistance whatsoever as he plunged in. 

Spencer groaned as he felt he thick member thoroughly stretch and fill him. He sighed contentedly and wriggled under Derek, pulling at him so he could bury his face in his neck and kiss him as he welcomed the deep, powerful thrusts. A surge of that unnameable feeling Derek had gotten when he’d first encountered the boy came over him; it wasn’t just the intense pleasure of having his cock lodged deeply inside his tight, clenching little ass, it was the... the utter joy Spencer seemed to take in being with him, just being with him—a beautiful something no lover of his had ever shown him before. 

Derek smiled down at him, and then playfully grabbed the boy's foot and nipped his ankle, making him screech and struggle in delighted protest. Derek laughed; for a moment, he was happier than he'd ever been in his entire life.

Then, Derek heard the wagon door creak open. An irritated male voice snapped, "Spencer Reid? Are you in here? Where the fuck is my money?"

Spencer froze for a moment, and then he gave an exasperated huff and rolled his eyes. "Aw, hell. Leave me alone, Hotch! I'm busy fucking my new boyfriend." To Derek’s utter bewilderment, the French accent was gone, and Derek wasn't sure if he was more shocked by that or by the fact that the curtain was abruptly shoved aside, sending a cold rush of air over his naked butt, raised as it was in mid-thrust.

He had a moment of acute embarrassment. He'd never been caught in the act of sex before, certainly not with another male, and the realization that a stranger was seeing him with his cock deeply embedded in the youth's bottom, heavy balls dangling, was fairly horrifying to him. 

That, combined with the realization that the boy now cheerfully grinning up at him wasn't who he thought he was, caused his brain to short-circuit. He pulled out with a slick pop, fell back against the wall and gaped at the intruder. He managed to notice that he was dressed in a black cutaway coat and riding boots before turning his perplexed gaze back to Spencer. He rasped, "You—you're not French!"

Spencer scrunched up his face and shrugged ruefully. "Yeah... Fooled you, huh? I guess my accent was better than I thought. Sorry. But, forget about that, Derek, come on, where were we?" He attempted to pull Derek back on top of him, but Derek held him off, gesturing at the man called Hotch.

"Are you crazy? That guy—"

"Aw, don't mind him. Hotch has caught me in flagrante delicto before, haven’t you, Hotch?" 

The man ignored him as he leaned down, his shoulder brushing Derek's foot in the close quarters. He prowled through the boy's clothes until he found the drawstring bag. He held it up accusingly before checking the contents, and then stuck it in his pocket. He shot a nasty glare at Spencer. “You goddamned little thief. Just wait until Gideon gets back. I’ll be having a word with him about this.” He then sneered as he took in the scene on the disheveled bed and added, “All of this.” He shook his head and left.

Derek stared after the man, then looked back at Spencer. "Who the hell was that?"

"That's Hotch. He runs this crew, well, him and Gideon. He does a little horse trading on the side. He got a good price for a mare yesterday, and left the money out where just anybody could find it; I was keeping it safe for him, that’s all." He gestured dismissively and then ran his hands over Derek's chest. "Come on, Derek, forget about him. Let’s get back to what we were doing, that was amazing...” He reached for a kiss, but Morgan pushed him back.

“You may find this hard to believe, youngster, but I’m kind of out of the mood by now.”

“Aw, come on, haven’t you ever had someone walk in on you while you were being intimate with someone? Happens all the time around here. No privacy. In fact, I bet the girls are going to be here any minute. They'll want to see your, um, generous assets for themselves." 

Derek scowled. “What girls?”

“Penelope, Emily, and JJ.”

“And, who are they?”

“Well, they each have a speciality, we all do. Pen does stuff with herbs and potions. Emily tells fortunes, and JJ’s a dancer.”

“Uh-huh. And, what do you do?” Derek asked skeptically.

“I’m a magician!”

Derek took a long look at the kid's face. Without the wide-eyed innocent appearance he'd been cultivating the night before, he looked a little older. He was gazing intently at Derek, and Derek couldn’t help but notice that the sun coming in through a window above the bed cast gold over the boy's pale skin, picking up reddish-blond highlights in the dark thatches of hair under his arms and above his still-hard cock. 

Derek refused to let himself be distracted, and his expression hardened. "A magician, huh? Sounds like bullshit to me.” He squinted at the young man and leaned forward in a slightly threatening manner. “Say, what’s this game you're playing, anyway? Why’d you lie to me? Tell me."

Spencer raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "It’s not a game. I saw you on the street and I wanted you to fuck me. I had to get your attention somehow... It worked, didn't it? What's the harm?"

Derek gave him an exasperated look. "You lied! You... you pretended to be someone you're not! ‘Oh, bonjour, Monsieur! Fuck me harder, Monsieur!’” Derek mimicked disgustedly. “Who are you, for real? What the hell's going on here, anyway?"

Spencer reluctantly sat upright, brushed strands of hair away from his face and sighed. "Okay, fine. I'm not a gypsy. We're a performing troupe from New York. We travel around doing shows; we're on our way to Florida for the winter. We do humorous sketches, improvised dialogue, scenes from Shakespeare. We sing and dance. We'll make you laugh, and we'll make you cry. And, as I already told you, we all have our own specialties to shake down the yokels. I do magic tricks." 

With that, he leaned over Derek and pulled a coin from behind his ear. He kissed him, and Derek found the coin had made its way into his mouth. He spat and threw it across the room and then looked into Spencer’s eyes. Teasing him, mocking him? Had he really been stupid enough to believe the kid had feelings for him? He'd just been played for a fool. 

His bewilderment turned to anger.

“Oh, hell, I've had enough of this." He started to climb over Spencer, but just then the door opened and he heard women talking and laughing. The curtain was again yanked aside and three women crowded in together, staring at his nakedness. A small blonde, a tall brunette, and a full-figured redhead all stood with their eyes clamped onto Derek's penis, hanging limply between his legs as he knelt on the edge of the bed. The brunette inhaled deeply and said, "Smells like sex, huh, girls? Someone's been having a nice morning!" Then, the redhead shrieked and the other two dissolved into laughter. Derek sat back and pulled the sheet over himself, and Spencer made a shoo'ing gesture at the girls.

"All right, all right, you got what you came for, now go away, evil harlots," he said with a chuckle.

"Now, Spencer, don't be selfish," the brunette chided. "You've got more than enough there to share, I can see that."

"Sorry, Em, he's mine. Every beautiful inch." Spencer put one arm over Derek’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. That brought forth another delighted squeal from the redhead, and he grinned at her before adding, "Anyway, you have Hotch. Now, who's being selfish?"

The one he called Em sniffed disdainfully. "Ha. I’ve told you before, if you can get him, you can have him.” There was a moment of silence as everyone but Derek stared at her sympathetically. Apparently, all was not rosy in the domestic bliss of the camp, but the dark-haired beauty shrugged it off and changed the subject by saying, “Well, fellas, enjoy yourselves a little longer, but we have to go into town to drum up some business for tonight. Spencer, don't make me come back here and drag your naked ass out of the bed. Right, JJ?"

JJ grinned. "Might get more business that way, at least in some parts of this berg. Have fun, boys!"

The redhead was still staring adoringly at Derek. "You're not going to run away, are you, darling? You’ll stay with me, I mean, us, forever?" She gave a naughty shimmy and raised her eyebrows invitingly.

"Pen, I have a feeling he's not so interested in what you've got under that skirt," Spencer reminded her.

"I know—but I can dream, can't I?" She flashed a gorgeous smile at Derek, shrugged and flounced after the other girls. Spencer leaned forward and gave Derek another kiss, on the mouth this time, soft and sweet and lazy. Derek was so astonished by the whole situation that he kissed back before remembering he was angry with the boy. He jerked away and fixed a baleful look onto him.

"Hey! Cut it out. I'm getting out of here, this place is a loony bin just waiting to happen."

"Aw, don't go! We can fool around some more—or, we can get breakfast, if you'd prefer. You want some eggs?" Spencer started to get up, but Derek pushed him back onto the bed.

"I don't want anything from you! In fact, I never want to see you again. You're a—a lying little shit, you understand that? And, a thief, on top of that! Now, get out of my way, and don't talk to me." He scrambled off of the bed and began dressing. Spencer watched with a petulant look on his face.

"Don't be mad! Come on, Derek, you had a good time, didn't you?"

"Shut up."

"Well, at least come and see the show tonight. For free! Please?"

"No. Fuck you, and fuck your crazy show. I wouldn’t be caught dead within ten feet of it, or of any of you lunatics, for that matter. Now, goodbye. Thanks for a nice fuck."

"Aw." Out of the corner of his eye, Derek could see the boy had slumped into a miserable heap on the bed. "But, I really like you," he said softly.

"Don't care. You shouldn't lie to people."

"I'm sorry. I just... I just wanted to be with you." Spencer watched Derek stride out of his trailer. He got up, pulled on trousers and walked outside, staring as Derek strode up the road toward town. He really, really hoped he'd change his mind and come back, or at least go see the show. 

He thought he might. 

He thought, possibly, that the fact that he'd stolen his wallet would help.

*****

The surge of anger in the second dream startled Morgan awake. He lay there for a while, aware that, once again, he had that exhausted, wrung out feeling, but he managed to drag himself out of bed and go to the gym. Still, he barely made it through his workout, in spite of his trainer’s encouragement and admonitions. 

Worse, the dream stuck with him throughout the entire morning. He wasn’t sure what particular aspect was getting to him the most—God, it was all disturbing—but it lingered in the back of his mind, tickling at him annoyingly every time he settled down to concentrate.

He finally decided he needed to get another perspective. He stood outside Hotch’s office door and raised his hand to knock. Then, he thought better of it and started to walk away; he only made it a few feet before turning back and resolutely tapping on the unit chief’s door.

“Come.” Hotch was seated at his desk, deep in paperwork.

“Hey—sorry to bother you, man, but do you have a minute?”

“Of course.” Hotch motioned for Morgan to take a seat, and then put aside a document he was reading. “What is it?”

“Uh... Nothing, really. I’ve just been feeling kind of... weird lately.”

“Weird? How so?”

“I don’t know. Run down, kind of listless. I’m not sick, but—I just don’t seem to have any energy, you know?”

“Take a sick day tomorrow and see a doctor.”

“Well—I really don’t think it’s physical.”

Hotch frowned thoughtfully. Morgan rarely confided personal information to him, so he knew there was something significant causing the seasoned agent such distress, and he really wanted to help him if he could.

“Hm. Any other symptoms?”

Morgan shifted in his chair. “Uh... okay, this is going to sound stupid, but I’ve been having these wackoid dreams lately, and I don’t know what to make of them.”

“‘Wackoid?’” Hotch grinned. “That’s a diagnostic term I’m not familiar with. Is it in the DSM-IV?”

“Ha ha, you know, everyones’s turned into a comedian around here lately. No, I just never had dreams like this before and I don’t know what they mean.”

“Well, Freud had a few things to say on the subject. What kind of dreams are they, do they involve work? Gory, violent stuff?”

“No, not at all. It’s just, like, a long time ago. Another world. Real vivid, and almost all of us are there—you, Reid, Emily, JJ, Garcia. Even Gideon, although he wasn’t actually present.”

Hotch pursed his lips and nodded. “Could have to do with abandonment issues. An absent father figure?”

Morgan made a pfft sound. “I sure as hell never though of Gideon as my father.”

“No, but dream symbols take odd forms.” He watched Morgan shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Was there anything else? I mean, from what you’ve told me, that doesn’t sound particularly unsettling. Is there more to it?”

Morgan raised his eyes and met Hotch’s. He hated having his personal life spill into the work environment; hell, that was one of the things he liked about having such an intense, demanding job—he could disassociate himself from some of his troubles simply because his work took so much thought and energy. But, Hotch was being kind enough to give him the opportunity to unburden himself, and he thought he’d better take advantage of it.

“Okay. So, Reid... In these dreams, he’s a young guy, like, a teenager. And...”

Hotch raised his brow and waited uncertainly. “And?” he prompted.

Morgan took a deep breath. “And... Let’s just say, there’s a... sexual aspect to the dream.” He dropped his eyes to the floor.

Hotch didn’t allow his expression to change, but he took a few moments to absorb the information. “Ah. You and... Reid?”

Morgan nodded slightly. 

“Well. What do you think that means?”

A sneer of irritation came over Morgan’s face. “I don’t know! Look, Hotch, I’m straight, okay? So is he, as far as I know. I mean, the issues’s never come up! We’re friends, really good friends, but that’s it. Why would I be dreaming sexy stuff about him? It doesn’t make any sense!”

Hotch paused a moment, carefully considering his next words. “Morgan, you know that any pop psychology article on dreams will tell you that dreaming about a homosexual encounter doesn’t automatically mean you’re gay.” 

“I know I’m not gay! But, why would I dream something like that?”

“Well, maybe the sexual part isn’t the point. You say Reid’s young in your dreams. That suggests vulnerability, innocence. Maybe that represents something you’re, I don’t know, looking for within yourself. Wanting to start over, take a fresh look at things.” He smiled wryly. “Of course, I’m just making this up, I haven’t a clue what it means.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re just horny.”

“Then, I’d better find a date soon. I don’t know if I can take another night like last night,” Morgan muttered grumpily.

“Probably not a bad idea. Was there anything else?”

An impish expression crossed Morgan’s face. “Well... In the dream, you and Prentiss had a thing going on, too. What do you think that means?”

Hotch grunted in amusement and leaned back in his chair. “Uh—well, all I can say is that dreams don’t necessarily have a literal interpretation. These could be about any number of subconscious matters, things that may not even have anything to do with sex at all.” The two men sat quietly mulling that over for a moment, then Hotch added, “But, look, since it’s upsetting you, why don’t you make an appointment with a Bureau psychotherapist? It might help to discuss it with a professional.”

Morgan waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s not that big of a deal. I actually feel better just having put it into words.” He stood up. “But, I’ll keep it in mind if this keeps up.”

“Good.”

Morgan turned and headed toward the door. Hotch called to him, “Morgan?” 

“Yeah?”

“Don’t hesitate to come talk to me any time. I may not be an expert on dream interpretation, but at least I can listen. All right?”

“Sure, I appreciate it. Later.”

Morgan went back to his own office. Oddly, he did feel better; the dream now felt intangible, grainy. Maybe putting the most disturbing parts of it into words had taken away its power. Maybe he just needed a decent night’s sleep. He vowed that this weekend he’d spend a solid 48 hours conked out under the covers.

He’d be interested to see if that did him any good.


	3. Reid's Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his dream, Derek confronts Spencer about stealing his wallet; Morgan and the team leave for a case.

Shortly after Derek's departure, Spencer tapped at Penelope's trailer door.

"Enter, unworthy one." She glanced at the disheveled boy and grinned. "Rough night, eh, sexy?"

"Wonderful night. But, the morning didn't go so well. He left. Angry."

"You do have that effect on people sometimes." She noticed a grimace of pain pass over the boy's face. "What's the matter?"

Spencer grinned sheepishly. "My bottom's sore. You know, where he, uh—"

"Repeatedly thrust his throbbing manhood into your eager, willing flesh?"

"Uh, yeah, something like that... You got anything?"

"Of course, my love." Penelope rifled through a cabinet and handed him a little glass jar filled with a cream the color of sunflowers. "This should improve the situation."

"Thanks." Spencer started to take down his trousers, thought better of it, and gestured for Penelope to turn around.

She rolled her eyes. "Like I've never seen that before. Heck, I just saw it this morning!" But she obediently turned and let Spencer apply the ointment in private. When he finished, he announced "All done." Penelope turned back and tsk'd at him in amusement. "I guess that pretty man did quite a number on you, didn't he?"

"My own fault. Couldn't get enough."

"I can imagine. If I had that bronze hunk in my bed, I wouldn't be able to walk for a week. How many times?"

"Only twice, but it went on for a while."

"Oh, my." She handed Spencer a cloth to wipe his hands. "So, is that better?"

"Much." Spencer looked lost in thought, then added, "I hope he comes back."

Penelope reached out and took his chin in her hand. "He will. How could he not? Look at you, you're adorable."

"He was mad because I played a trick on him."

"Mm-hm. Shame!"

"I had to, Pen. It would have taken forever to get him otherwise."

"Well, he'll forgive you. Did you ask him to the show?"

Spencer nodded.

"Good, you can make it up to him afterwards."

"Yeah." He looked up suddenly. "When will Gideon be back?"

"There's no telling, you know how he is. Why?"

"Aw... I wanted to talk to him before Hotch has a chance to."

"Why?"

"I maybe kind of borrowed some money from him before I had a chance to ask him for it. I bet he's going to make a big thing out of it with Gideon, and then I'll have to listen to one of his interminable lectures." He shrugged and then dug in his pockets, his hands coming out empty. "What do I owe you? I'm a little low on funds right now, but—"

"Don't worry about it, just do me some magic. Something I haven't seen before."

"All right." He thought a moment, then reached back into his trouser pocket. He produced a small intricately folded paper flower. He put it behind her ear and held up a hand mirror for her to admire herself. Then, he took back the flower and laid it in his palm; he closed his hand on it, rotated his fist a few times, then opened it, and now the flower was gone and a live butterfly sat on his palm, slowly flapping its wings. He shook his hand slightly; the butterfly took off and left through Penelope's open window. She laughed and clapped her hands gleefully.

"That was marvelous, baby! God, you just keep getting better."

"Thanks, Pen, it was my pleasure. So, when are we going into town?"

"In a few minutes. You should get ready."

"All right. Thanks again." Spencer gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, making her coo, and then slipped out of her trailer. The soothing cream had already rendered his little problem a thing of the past, and he strode purposefully back to his own trailer to get ready for work.

*******

Derek made his way down the dusty road toward town, preoccupied with his own stupidity. How could he have been so taken in by that damn little shyster? Yeah, he had beautiful eyes. And, a wonderful grin. And, Derek kind of liked the way he laughed, the way he moved. He'd definitely liked the way it felt, thrusting inside him. But there was more to it than that; it was the way the boy had trustingly settled himself into his arms, the way he'd looked at him as if he cared about him, as if he meant something to him...

He'd wanted that. And, he was ashamed to admit it, but he wanted it again, now, always—something he hadn't even known existed, and now he needed it, like water, like air.

And, it didn't even exist, not really. The kid had played him, and for what? Sex? With those eyes and that ass, he could get anybody he wanted. The fun of putting something over on an innocent, okay, stupid, stranger? That was a dangerous game, not worth the risk he wouldn't think, unless there was something else to be gained, something like—

Derek stopped in his tracks and reached for his wallet.

Not there.

A sneer of self-disgust came over his face, quickly followed by a rueful, knowing grin.

Well, damn. The boy was good.

All right, he thought. Now he understood. Now, they were on an even playing field.

He considered going back, but he was desperate for a bath and clean clothes. He knew the troupe would be in town later that afternoon; he'd recover his property then.

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Derek picked up the pace and returned to his hotel room.

The troupe spent the day working the midday downtown crowd. JJ was dressed in a flowing white gown with a flower garland in her hair, and she sang, played the lute, and danced as they went along. Emily, clad in colorful gypsy garb, would stop and take a passerby's hand and quickly read his or her palm, saying just enough to get them intrigued. She'd then hand them a flyer for the show.

Spencer did magic tricks, mostly for the kids, but he'd slyly work the moms into the act, flirting and charming them, making them feel young and desirable again. Penelope hawked healing oils and invigorating elixirs, seemingly able to tell whose lumbago was acting up and who was suffering a hangover just by looking at them. Hotch stood by, stern and solid, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Anyone getting too close to the ladies found themselves the object of his attention, and they'd quietly back away, no questions asked.

Derek watched from his hotel room window, taking it all in, but mostly he watched Spencer. The youth was wearing his top hat and velvet coat, and had a ruffled white shirt on under that. He moved fluidly, his smile came easily, and his eyes widened as he performed his tricks, seemingly just as amazed as his audience at his own sleight of hand. It was amazing to see the excitement the team was able to work up; money changed hands here and there, and the group just kept moving down the road.

Derek waited until they were a few blocks ahead before slipping out and making his way down the alley. Spencer had lagged behind, still handing out flyers, still dazzling youngsters with his magic. Derek shadowed him and at just the right moment, his hand shot out and he grabbed him securely by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the deserted alley.

Derek's muscles were like iron, flexing under his shirt sleeves as he forcibly guided the kid to a secluded spot. He towered over Spencer's slight frame and roughly jammed him against a brick wall, his lips pressed together tightly in a stern line.

"Where's my wallet, boy?"

Spencer's eyes were huge, and he was again the picture of bewildered innocence.

"Uh... Excuse me, mister? Do I know you?"

"Don't give me that shit. Just give it back, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

Suddenly, a sunny grin came over Spencer's face. "Oh! Of course, of course, I remember now. You're the nice man with the unreasonably large penis. Nice to see you again—how are you?"

"Shut up, and hand it over. Now."

"I'm sorry, hand what over?"

"My wallet, kid."

"Your wallet? I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Boy, I swear, I'll—"

"Oh, your wallet! Right, now that you mention it, I did, um, find a wallet—you must have dropped it..."

"I didn't fucking drop it, you little bastard—you stole it from me!"

Spencer took on a wounded expression. "You know, it's not very nice to go around accusing people of things for no reason. I—"

Derek gave him another hard jolt against the wall. "You're nothing but a damn thief and a liar. Admit it!"

"I am not!" Another jolt. Spencer grimaced as the back of his head made contact with the brick. "Ow! Okay, okay, fine, I took it. But, I was just playing another little trick on you—ha ha, funny, huh?"

"I ought to call a cop."

"Oh, now, that's not necessary! It's safe and sound, back in the trailer... I'll be happy to go get it for you, or better yet, just come to the show tonight. I'll have it for you then, I promise."

"Yeah, right, you'll have it, minus the cash and my train ticket. No, kid—I want it now."

"No, no, I didn't take it for the money! You left in such a hurry, and I just wanted to be sure that I'd see you again." He gave Derek a hopeful smile and cautiously patted him on the chest. Morgan's eyes narrowed.

"You little brat, I oughta beat the shit out of you. No, I oughta drag you over my knee, take off my belt, and wear your cute little ass out." Derek stared menacingly into his eyes, but Spencer looked positively delighted.

"Really? Well, I'm a little busy right now, but later—" Derek leaned in closer and tightened his grip painfully. His voice became a low growl.

"I'm not playing with you, boy. What I will do is this—I will haul your ass into the police station and leave you there on theft charges. Let you spend the night sweet-talking the locals in the drunk tank while they take turns with you, how'd you like that?"

The teasing look instantly drained from Spencer's face. Derek was mildly shocked to see what appeared to be genuine alarm in his eyes; every instinct told him to back off and tell him that it was okay, he didn't mean it, that he'd never do something like that to him, but... his bruised ego rather liked having the upper hand, if only for a moment. He maintained his threatening glower.

Spencer blinked uncertainly. "N-no. Please..." He sounded defeated. "Don't do that. Here—I-I have your wallet." He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the item. He handed it to Derek, but the bigger man didn't release his hold.

"Let's see the money."

Spencer opened the wallet and showed him the cash, intact. "It's there, every cent."

"And the train ticket?"

Spencer pulled it out. "See? I didn't take anything. I was going to give it back, I swear."

"Yeah, right."

"I was!" Spencer took a deep breath. "Please, Derek, don't be mad. Don't... Don't turn me in." He dropped his eyes and spoke in a low voice. "I'll do anything you want."

A shadow crossed Derek's face and he gently lifted Spencer's chin. "Hey. Look at me."

Spencer looked into his eyes, surprised to see the anger gone, replaced with something like concern. "What?" he asked.

"Now, you listen to me. I would never take anything from you that you didn't want to give; I just want what's mine. Understand?" Derek's voice had a raw edge to it that told Spencer more about the man than words ever could. He gave a weak nod and held his gaze until Derek finally relaxed and went back to his tough-guy posture.

He snatched the billfold from Spencer's hand and made a point of examining the contents for himself. "Okay, looks like it's all there, fortunately for you. Now, get the hell away from me and leave me alone. I have a train to catch."

Spencer's mouth dropped open. "Wait—you're leaving town?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Aw, don't do that! Please. Come to the show tonight."

Derek regarded him irritably. "Why, so you can fleece me out of my cash in front of an audience? Steal the buttons off my coat, the shoes off my feet?"

"No! I want you to see us perform. We're really good, you'll like it." He threw in a wheedling, "Please?" for good measure.

"I don't have time for foolishness like that."

"Come on." Spencer bit his lip, then added, "Afterwards, you can come back to camp with me..." He gave a teasing little smile, leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "I'll speak French to you. You seemed to like that."

Derek raised his eyes to the sky and raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "You are too damn much, you know that, kid? What the hell am I supposed to do when you—"

Spencer wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and kissed him. After a moment, Derek pushed him back against the wall, gently this time, and welcomed the feel of the warm lips and tongue against his own. Spencer fit himself against Derek's body, and Derek felt his groin tighten. He pulled back and stared at the kid's winsome expression. A smile tugged at Derek's lips, and he finally shook his head, powerless to combat the pretty dark eyes and the naughty smirk he was now being faced with.

"Well... I guess I could trade in my ticket for a later one. We'll see."

Spencer chortled, "Oh, good, hooray! I can't wait." Then, he leaned away from him and peeked around the corner to see the rest of his team far down the street. "Uh-oh, I better go. I'll see you tonight, okay? Promise?"

"I suppose."

He was rewarded with an amazing grin that made Derek's stomach flip, and the older man smiled back. "Try not to get into any more trouble, will you, kid?"

"I won't. Au revoir!"

Derek glanced down to pull out the train ticket, and when he looked up, the boy was gone.

He looked back at his wallet; sticking out between the greenbacks was a folded piece of paper that he would have sworn on a Bible wasn't there before. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

At the top, it said "Derek." Below that were two intertwined red-crayon hearts drawn simply in a child-like hand. Under that, the name "Spencer" was scrawled.

Derek frowned at it a moment, and then he chuckled, feeling exasperated but also pleased. He folded it up and slid it in safely among the bills.

*******

A hideous blaring noise woke Morgan and it took his sleep-addled brain a moment to grasp that it was his phone going off and not his alarm clock. He didn't bother to check caller ID; the ringtone told him who it was.

"Morning, JJ," he rasped.

"Good morning," a cheerful voice answered. "Sorry to call so early, but we have a case and Hotch wants everyone to meet at the airfield in an hour. He'll brief us on the plane."

"Gotcha." Morgan sat up, grateful that it hadn't been a video call—he had a raging morning hard-on. He wondered if that would have been taken care of if he'd been allowed to continue dreaming. Judging by the sticky undershorts he'd woken up with the past two mornings, he was pretty sure it would.

He had time for a quick shower, and once the warm water was flowing and he had a nice lather worked up, he took himself in hand and dealt with his erection. He tried his best to focus on imagining himself with any one of several beautiful ladies he'd recently had trysts with, but the image of dream-Spencer kept crowding his thoughts. When he finally reached release, it was due to a mental picture of himself and the boy joyfully rutting on a soft feather mattress in a gaily painted travel wagon, and a sense of consternation came over him immediately afterwards; he'd never made himself come so hard in his life.

Once recovered, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower stall. He wrapped a towel around himself and stared at his reflection in the mirror. "What the hell is happening to you, man?" he thought despairingly. Hotch's comforting words came back to him and he nodded; after all, it was just a dream, a sexy, sexy dream, and maybe the fact that it featured Reid in dream-form didn't matter.

He was just glad he hadn't spent the last ten minutes jerking off to a mental image of real-life Reid.

********

The briefing took an hour, but flying to California still left them with a long flight ahead of them.

Morgan moved from the meeting circle to a seat at the front of the plane, intent on putting in his earphones and catching a nap. The plane was going through a turbulent stretch and there had already been a couple of stomach-churning dips. Morgan preferred to sleep through such experiences whenever possible.

But, much to his dismay, Reid followed him. The plane made a sudden lurch and the younger agent stumbled, almost ending up in Morgan's lap. Morgan raised his hands and caught Reid around the waist, helping him steady himself until he could maneuver his way into the seat next to Morgan's.

"Whoa, sorry!" he said as he pulled the seatbelt around himself.

"No problem," Morgan said, still feeling the warmth and solidity of Reid's slim waist in his hands. He shook off the thought and forced himself to wonder if Reid intended to talk him to death, or if he just wanted to get away from the group to silently mull over the points of the case. He fervently hoped it was the latter.

"So, I've been thinking about your dream," Reid said.

Morgan started; he'd forgotten he'd even mentioned it to Reid. "You have?"

"Yeah. You know, dream theory was covered in my psychology courses, but my professor didn't give it much credence, and I used to share his opinion. But after you mentioned me speaking French in your dream, I decided to do a little research and it's actually kind of interesting."

"You read up on dream theory?"

"Yeah, I picked up a a couple of books last night."

"A couple?"

"Well, six. Four serious texts and two self-help type things, nonsense really, but I have to admit, it was kind of fun."

"Okay. So, what does you speaking French in my dream mean?"

"Well, it's not that simple. Are you familiar with dream theory?"

"They covered it in my psych classes too, but I don't remember much about it. Sounded like crap to me, if you want to know the truth."

"Right. Well, Freudian theory states that all dreams are about wish fulfillment. Children dream very straightforwardly, but as we mature, our subconscious often wishes for things we believe to be dangerous or forbidden; in a nutshell, your dreams protect your conscious mind from conflicts too stressful to deal with when you're awake."

"And, what does all that have to do with you speaking French?" Morgan asked tiredly.

"It could be a message from your subconscious that you don't yet understand. Or, it could represent an unfamiliar problem in your waking life that you don't know how to approach and resolve." Reid peered inquisitively at Morgan. "Does that make any sense to you?"

Morgan shifted in his chair. "Maybe. I'll have to think about it."

Reid went quiet for a moment, then asked, "What about last night? Have you had any other odd dreams?"

Morgan glanced at his friend, determined to avoid further discussion of his wacky dream-life. "Uh—no, I don't think so. I don't usually remember my dreams."

Reid nodded, looking pleased. "Well, that's a skill you can acquire. Look, I got you this." He pulled up his messenger bag, crossed one leg over the other to rest it upon and inadvertently nudged Morgan's knee as he did so. He scrabbled around in the bag before bringing out a small notebook and a pen. "Here," he said as he handed them to Morgan.

Morgan slowly moved his gaze from Reid's leg, which was still touching his knee, and stared at the objects. Then he looked at Reid. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a technique people use for dream therapy. You keep the notepad by your bed, and as soon as you wake up, you force yourself to think back to whatever dream you awoke from, and you scribble down the basic points. That way, you can analyze them later." He proffered the gift again. "Here, try it. I'll be happy to help you do the analysis. I don't claim to be proficient at dream interpretation, but all of this has actually given me an idea for a research project, and it would help me out if I had someone to practice on."

"Oh, come on, man, I'm not going to be able to remember anything, and I sure as hell won't be coherent enough to write it down when I first wake up!"

"I know, right? But, apparently that's what everyone thinks until they start doing it. It supposedly gets easier as you go along. Come on, give it a try—I'm going to do it, too. Maybe it won't work, but I think it'll be a really interesting experiment, given the line of work we're in. Give it a chance, okay?" He again gestured at Morgan with the notebook.

Morgan continued to stare balefully at Reid. The last damn thing he wanted to do was discuss anything that came out of his randy subconscious with the object of his dream-obsession, but real-life Reid was looking at him hopefully, and he realized it would be pretty shitty of him not to at least agree to try to help his friend with his project.

"Well... Okay. I'll give it a try. No promises, though." He took the notebook and pen and put them with his things under his chair.

"Great! Thank you." Reid said. He settled back in his seat and began to go over the case files.

Morgan tried to stay awake, but gradually drifted off into a nap.

The next thing he was aware of was the plane harshly bumping the ground as it landed.


	4. Professor Gideon Welcomes You

It was getting close to evening; Derek woke from a nap in his hotel room bed, got dressed, and headed downstairs. He paused by the establishment's exit and noticed that one of the flyers the troupe had been handing out earlier in the afternoon was posted on a window, giving the time and location of that night's show. He went out and strolled to an empty lot at the southern end of town.

Colorful scarves tied together served to rope off the area where a show wagon was parked. It was larger and much more ornate than the one Spencer lived in, with elaborately carved filigrees and painted panels adorning all four sides. The name, "Professor Gideon's Traveling Compendium of Dreams" was lettered above the door; it caught Derek's eye, and he puzzled over the meaning for a moment.

Derek slipped under the rope and went to the caravan's entrance, climbed the steps, went inside and looked around. He realized that one side could be opened up, turning the wagon into a stage. A heavy velvet curtain divided the space. He called out, "Spencer?" and as he reached out a hand to pull back the curtain, a stern voice intoned, "Don't do that."

Derek whirled around; he was certain no one had been behind him when he came in. A man looking to be in his fifties was standing by the door, and Derek deferentially nodded at him. "Sorry. I was looking for Spencer."

The man had dark, thinning hair and piercing brown eyes. He looked Derek up and down in a critical manner, and then pursed his lips for a moment before saying, "I see. Friend of his, are you?"

"Uh, yeah. He invited me to see the show." Derek stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Name's Morgan, Derek Morgan."

"Jason Gideon. Nice to meet you." Gideon didn't take his hand.

Derek cleared his throat. "You're the Professor, I take it?"

Gideon shrugged, looking amused. "Yes, that's me. Ridiculous, isn't it? I've never taught a class in my life. But, that's show business, you know. You have to make things... memorable."

Derek couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he asked, "What the hell's a 'dream compendium' anyway?"

A slow smile crossed the man's face. "I'll tell you later. First, I have a question for you." The smile stayed, but his voice had a suspicious tone to it. "What do you want with Spencer?"

Derek met Gideon's eye and he didn't like what he saw there. He steeled his gaze and answered sharply, "I told you. We're friends."

"I seriously doubt that. Man like you trying to be pals with a kid like him? Doesn't ring true."

"What are you saying?"

"I'll be frank. I think you have a mind to bed him. If you haven't already."

Derek felt ire rise in his throat, and he took a step forward. "What's it to you? Oh, wait—maybe I'm stepping on your turf. Is that it?"

Gideon's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, but let me make something clear. Spencer's like my son. I look out for him, and I'm not going to let him be hurt by some high roller passing through town looking for a quick fuck. Get it?"

Derek's fists tightened and he would have loved nothing more than to take the bastard out with a good right hook, but he forced himself to consider the man's words. He wondered what Spencer thought of Gideon; he'd only mentioned him in passing, but he'd sounded as if things were good between them. If what Gideon said was true, he was just trying to protect the boy, and Derek respected that. He relaxed and took a deep, calming breath.

"Right. Sorry. Listen... I have no intention of hurting him. We just met, and we're having fun together, but that's all. You can ask him yourself if you don't believe me."

Gideon seemed to relax as well, and he made a conciliatory gesture. "Well, I have no reason not to believe you. Spencer doesn't always make the best decisions, but he's generally a pretty good judge of character. I'm sure he knows what he's doing." That strange smile came back to his face and he glanced toward the heavy curtain. "You asked about the dream compendium. Here, let me show you.'

He moved past Derek to the curtain, and was just about to pull it aside when Spencer appeared in the doorway and shouted, "Gideon! No!"

The youth sprang forward and grabbed Derek's arm, jerking him away from the curtain. "Don't. Please." He pushed past him and whispered something in Gideon's ear that Derek couldn't make out, but it sounded as if he said, "He's a good man." Spencer wore an anxious expression, and Derek looked from him back to Gideon. The older man was still smiling slightly, but there was a darkness in his eyes that Derek didn't understand.

"As you wish," Gideon said. He stepped away from the curtain and pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket. He struck a match and lit it, and then began to puff, turning to impassively observe Derek again.

Derek felt oddly relieved at seeing Spencer and he gave him an uncertain grin. "Uh... Hey, kid. I came to see the show like I promised. Guess I'm a little early."

"That's all right." Spencer patted his arm, then tugged at him. "Let's go outside so you can get a good spot." He cast a worried look back at Gideon, and then led Derek down the steps. People were beginning to gather at the roped-off area, and Hotch was standing there, preparing to collect admission.

Derek glanced behind him, then back at Spencer. "What the hell was all that about? What's behind that curtain?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing, really. It's just that that's where we keep the props and costumes and such." Spencer smiled reassuringly.

"Yeah? Well, you didn't need to grab me like that. I can take care of myself, you know." Derek irritably straightened his collar, and Spencer nodded.

"Of course. I just didn't want Gideon to spoil any of the show's surprises for you, that's all." He still seemed to be keeping an eye on the show wagon's entrance.

Just then, Penelope and Emily came out and began readying tables on either side of the wagon. One had a scarf draped over it proclaiming "Why suffer? Try Dr. Garcia's Magic Elixir!" The other was covered with a satin cloth and had a sign stating "Madame Emily Sees Your Past, Knows Your Future."

By now, Spencer's discomfort had passed and he gave Derek a warm hug before saying, "I need to go get ready, so you just stay here, okay? You'll have the best seat in the house. I'll see you after the show." He scampered off, his touch leaving Derek with a longing to keep him close, to hold him, to bury his face in his neck and inhale his scent.

He stared after him until he noticed that Hotch had dropped the rope and let people enter. The area around the stage quickly filled up and the crowd stretched back for several rows.

After a while, the doors opened and oil lamps came on, seemingly of their own accord. A heady smell of exotic incense filled the air, and what sounded to Derek like calliope music started up. Gideon strode grandly onto the stage, wearing a black silk jacket and top hat. He stopped in the middle and faced the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Professor Jason Gideon. Welcome to my Compendium of Dreams. What you will see tonight may shock you. You'll be amazed, you'll laugh, and you may be brought to tears, but one thing is absolutely certain—you will be entertained. Now, with no further ado, may I present the beautiful and mysterious Lady Jennifer—and Clyde." He took a slight bow, and the audience responded with a round of half-hearted applause. The curtain behind him opened, and JJ was standing there.

She had her hair tied back in a bun and she wore a cloak that covered her from her neck down to her feet. The audience fell quiet as eerie music began to play. JJ stared straight ahead, unsmiling. She slowly brought her hand to her throat and undid a clasp; the cloak shimmered to the floor, and the audience gasped.

JJ was dressed in a spangled belly dancer outfit, but what shocked the audience much, much more was that there was a live snake wrapped around her waist. Its head faced the crowd and it opened its mouth to hiss, revealing glinting fangs as if in greeting.

JJ began to dance, undulating her body, and the snake slithered over her, up to her shoulders, her neck, and then it coiled itself around her arm and matched her liquid movements as if it were a part of her. The mesmerized audience stood stock still. As the song ended, JJ brought the cloak up over her head; suddenly, there was a flash of light, and the cloak again dropped to the floor, but now Spencer stood in JJ's place, with the snake coiled tightly around his neck.

He sported a bewildered expression, and then he looked down at the snake and made a comically horrified face, earning him a good bit of laughter; he unwrapped the creature from around himself and held it out toward the audience, as if to throw it to the crowd, and a number of ladies in the front row shrieked. Then, another flash of light came, and now the snake was gone and in its place was a bouquet of daisies. Spencer smiled and threw the flowers to the audience; they disappeared in mid-air and became a shower of bright yellow confetti.

The audience laughed and applauded enthusiastically.

Next, Hotch and Emily performed a scene from "The Taming of the Shrew," in period costume and with perfect English accents. The relative normalcy of it seemed to settle the audience and they gave their full attention to the actors.

The next act belonged to Gideon. He came out and sang a mournful lament for lost love in a beautiful tenor voice, acapella. Derek noticed some people dabbing at their eyes, and he felt a catch in his throat, himself.

Then, changing the mood, two garishly painted marionettes dropped down from overhead onto the stage and began a sort of Punch and Judy show. Derek recognized the voices as belonging to Spencer and Penelope. They were outrageously bawdy and funny, and Derek found himself cracking up along with everyone else. The boy puppet had a big stick and kept threatening the girl puppet with it as they traded insults. Finally, the girl puppet wrestled it away and bashed the boy puppet over the head, to great applause. He was then jerked upward, and he disappeared into the rafters. The girl puppet took a smug bow before joining him.

Then, Spencer came out on stage carrying a third puppet, this one a rather pretty blonde female in a filmy white gown. Hotch played a lively tune on the violin and Spencer made her dance, but after a few bars, he clumsily dropped her in front of the stage. He mimed being embarrassed, then leaned down and pulled her up.

But, this time, it was JJ at the end of the strings.

Hotch switched to a haunting, delicate melody, and Spencer worked the strings, appearing to make JJ dance to his will. Her face was painted a chalky white and with her lips outlined in dark red and wearing the same type of diaphanous gown, she looked exactly like the puppet. She was completely limp, her head sagging, and the sight was both beautiful and somehow ghastly. When the music came to an end, Spencer let JJ slowly fall into a heap on the ground; he bent down to pick her up, but now the puppet was in her place and somehow JJ was on the stage behind Spencer. The audience went wild with applause, and Derek clapped as loudly as anyone.

There was more singing, another skit was performed, and JJ danced a steamy tango with Hotch. Spencer did more magic, bringing three people up from the audience to pick a card, any card, and while he couldn't seem to guess the right cards, he did manage to triumphantly relieve each of them of watches, wallets and jewelry, all of which he returned with a big flourish at the end of the bit. As an encore, he pulled the correct cards out of each person's ear, and then the curtain came down and Gideon returned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have been a delight. It was our pleasure to entertain you. Now, if you'd like to have your future told, or if you have nagging aches and pains troubling you—and gents, I'm not talking about your wives—please visit Madame Emily or Dr. Garcia at their tables. Thank you, and good night."

Everyone applauded madly, and people began to line up at the tables. Derek looked around for Spencer. He noticed Gideon talking to an unknown man, and after a moment, the stranger followed Gideon inside the wagon. Gideon came out several minutes later, and the man soon after, but when he returned, he was pale and he moved haltingly, as if in a trance. Gideon watched as he walked away, the same odd smile on his face that he'd had earlier when he was talking to Derek.

The sight left Derek feeling unsettled. He suddenly had a strong urge to find Spencer and take him away with him, far from the caravan, far from Gideon, and far, far away from his magic.

Morgan sat alone at the hotel bar. The BAU jet had landed just after 4:00 PM, and the meeting with local law enforcement had taken a couple of hours. The team had agreed to meet for dinner at a nearby restaurant, and the rest of them had gone to their rooms to unwind, but Morgan had napped during the flight, and he didn't want to go to sleep again even if he could. The dream he'd had on the plane was, oddly, even more upsetting than the sex dreams he'd been having about Reid. This one left him feeling uneasy and worried. He supposed it was just a reflection of the tension he always felt going into a new case, but even so, it was bizarre.

He still carried the smell of oil lamps, incense, and a sweaty crowd in his nostrils, and a vague memory of dream-Spencer's agitation at whatever it was Gideon had been about to do to his dream-self lingered in the pit of his stomach. What did it mean? Nothing? How could something that... tangible mean nothing?

Just then, Prentiss came into the bar and took a seat on the stool next to his.

"Hello, stranger. Getting a jump on the rest of us, huh?"

"Hey, Princess. Not really, I just couldn't stay in the room. Thought a little liquid refreshment was in order."

Prentiss ordered a drink and when it came she raised it to Morgan, and he clinked his glass to hers. "To this case getting solved quick and easy," Morgan said.

"Amen." Prentiss watched Morgan knock back the rest of his drink and then order another one. She raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"You've been looking a little... off the last couple of days. Is everything all right?"

Morgan sighed. "It's nothing. Just a little trouble sleeping."

"Mm. I know how that is. I've learned not to hesitate to pop a pill if it gets too bad. Maybe you should try it."

"Nah. It'll pass." He glanced at her, and added, "But... I've been having weird dreams, too."

"Oh, yeah? About what?"

Morgan started to answer, then paused. Suddenly, he turned to her with a look of such intensity in his eyes that Prentiss was taken aback.

"You ever have a dream so vivid that you could taste food in your mouth? Feel someone lying beside you, the warmth of their skin against yours, the smell of their hair—and then have that scent stay with you, even long after you woke up?"

Prentiss stared at him a moment. "Uh... Well, I once dreamed my dead Grandma Betty was sitting on the edge of my bed talking to me about her Hummel figurine collection, and when I woke up I was really bored." She waited for Morgan to laugh, but when he didn't, she frowned and gave him a puzzled look. "So, whose hair are you smelling? Anyone I know?"

Morgan pulled back and shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh, come on. Is it Garcia?" Prentiss asked lightly.

Morgan laughed a little. "I wish. But, no."

"JJ?"

"No."

Prentiss wrinkled her nose. "It's not Strauss, is it?"

Morgan did laugh, this time. "Remind me why I'm talking to you about this again?"

Prentiss laughed too, then a thought struck her. "Oh, God—it's not me, right? Not that I'd mind starring in your dreams, but I can see where that might be a little awkward."

Morgan gave her an affectionate look. "No, honey. I wish it was you. Hell, I'd even settle for Strauss, to tell you the truth."

"Huh?"

"It's a guy." Morgan just came out and said it. His nerves were so raw, he didn't care what Prentiss thought, he just felt the need to talk about it at this point.

"A guy? Oh, Morgan. So, you think that means... something? About, you know, your—"

"I don't know what it means."

They were both silent for a few minutes, and then Prentiss asked, "Do you want to tell me who he is?"

"It's Reid."

Prentiss' mouth dropped open. "Reid? Really? Wow." She turned back to her drink and took a sip, unsure how to proceed with the conversation. Morgan saved her by adding tiredly, "I think I've got some kind of a thing for him."

"Oh. Okay. Well—do you think that because that's how you really feel, or is it because of the dreams? I mean, I'm pretty sure you're not the first straight person to have a sexy dream about a same-sex coworker. "

"I don't know. I don't know how I feel, I'm just confused. I think the dreams are trying to tell me something, but it's so... I've never thought of him in that way before, you know? Not once. But, maybe I have, and I just repressed it so hard, I didn't realize it was happening." He turned to look Prentiss in the eye. "I'm not gay. But, the attraction in the dream is so strong—am I going crazy?"

"I doubt it. Look, I don't know anything about dream interpretation, but—"

Morgan laughed. "Yeah, but guess who does—I made the mistake of telling Reid that I was having weird dreams, not that I told him about, you know, me and him, but now he wants me to keep a dream journal and he's offered to do the analysis for me. Now, how'm I supposed to deal with that?"

Prentiss laughed too. "I think you do need a doctor, but Dr. Reid's not it." She grew serious. "Honest though, Morgan—have you thought about seeing someone? Like, a shrink? It might help."

"I don't know." Morgan shook his head and shrugged. "I'm probably making a big deal out of nothing. Hotch thinks that in my dream, Reid symbolizes some conflicted aspect of myself that I'm struggling with, and he's probably right. I think I just need a nice long vacation, away from all you guys. When your co-workers start visiting you in your sleep, you know you need a break, right?"

"Oh, I think so. If I were you, I'd put in for some time off as soon as we get done with this case." Prentiss finished her drink, and then checked the time. "We're meeting for dinner in a few, but I think I'll go freshen up first. See you in the lobby, okay?"

"Yep. I'll see you there."

Morgan finished off his drink as well, and then headed up to his room to change for dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

As the show crowd began to disperse, Derek turned back and spotted Spencer ducking into the caravan; Hotch followed after him, and then JJ. Gideon stayed outside, presumably to keep an eye on Emily and Penelope, both of whom were busy with customers. Derek walked to the back of the wagon to wait for the boy, but his eye caught movement in a sparse stand of trees beyond the show grounds and he started off in that direction.

He could see fairly well by the light of a fat full moon, and he headed down a hilly path until he came to the edge of a secluded cove. There he saw Spencer with a small bundle under his arm, and Derek realized he must have wanted to change out of his sweaty show costume and into clean clothes. He started to call to him, but Spencer had just slipped out of his jacket and was now unbuttoning his dress shirt. Derek became mesmerized by the sight of the slender young man's pale skin being revealed under the other-worldly yellow glow of the moon.

Spencer pulled off his boots and then shucked off his trousers, leaving him completely bare, his back to Derek. He leaned down and picked up a fresh pair of trousers.

A soft smile came over Derek's face.

He cleared his throat loudly, and Spencer whirled around, clutching the trousers to cover himself in front. When he saw Derek, he grinned and let the clothing fall to the ground, offering Derek a full view of his lanky body.

"Hey, pretty boy," Derek said.

"Hey, yourself."

"What are you doing down here?"

"Oh... It gets pretty crowded in the wagon. Plus, I needed a little fresh air." He huffed in self-deprecating amusement. "I didn't think anyone could see me."

"Well, I happened to be looking for you." Derek strode up and gathered him securely in his arms. Spencer nestled into him, fitting himself against Derek's sturdy frame, and the older man buried his face in the crook of Spencer's neck, breathing deeply of his scent—sharp sweat, lamp oil, and the spicy aroma of incense. He claimed Spencer's lips and kissed him deeply, taking his tongue into his mouth and sucking on it, eliciting a sweet, helpless moan. Derek pulled back and grinned.

"You know, you look good enough to eat, all naked under the moonlight like this," he said. "In fact, I think I'll eat you all up, starting... right... here." He pushed away a thatch of tangled curls and nibbled at the silky skin of Spencer's neck, making him yelp happily.

"Hey, cut it out!" He pulled back, laughing. Being in Derek's arms felt amazing, even better than he remembered—powerful muscles encircling him, the scratch of a woolen suit against his bare chest and hardening cock, the subtle scent of soap and cologne reminding him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but which he knew meant warmth and safety. He burrowed into Derek's arms and said, "Let's go back to camp, okay? We can, you know—snuggle up and get friendly." He chuckled, giving Derek a wicked little wink.

"Mm, you gonna give me some more of that good stuff I got last night?" Derek asked in a warm, throaty voice as he playfully squeezed the lad's bottom.

"Uh-huh. Anything you want," Spencer murmured. He rested his head on Derek's shoulder and hugged him; God, he'd willingly lie down on the cold rough ground right then and there and spread his legs for this man, give him his mouth, his ass, whatever he wanted, not caring that his body was wrung out and that his brain felt like mush—all Derek had to do was ask.

Although, he really sort of hoped Derek would agree to take him back to the warmth and comfort of his travel wagon first. There, he could relax without worrying about someone walking up on them unannounced.

And Derek wanted him, wanted him badly, more than he'd wanted anyone ever in his life. Raw instinct told him to pull down his trousers, free the pulsing ache of his erection, and give in to the pleasure of taking the warm, naked young man wrapped in his arms—now, under the moonlight, with crickets chirping and a whippoorwill sounding off as if urging him to get on with it, already.

He gathered Spencer in tighter, and the boy clung to him, and there it was again, that, that... _trust._ Derek frowned a bit; he'd seen the tiredness in Spencer's eyes, could feel the exhaustion in his body, hear it in his voice. A surge of tenderness came over him; he reluctantly eased his grip, dropped the husky lilt in his voice, and said kindly, "Well, I tell you what. How about you pull on your britches and I take you back to my hotel room? After the performance you gave back there, I think you need some dinner and a good night's sleep. We can 'get friendly' in the morning."

Spencer leaned back and looked at him, puzzled. "Sleep?" he asked, as if the word made no sense coming from Derek's mouth.

"Yeah, sleep. You were amazing up there, kid, you must be worn out."

Spencer raised an eyebrow and smiled tentatively. "Well... I am a little tired. But, wait, you want me to stay at your hotel with you?"

Derek nodded. "Sure. Is that so strange?"

"Uh... kind of. A fellow like you wanting to be seen in public with somebody like me? Most men just want to, you know, take me out behind a barn somewhere." He dropped his gaze to the ground. "Not that I go for that kind of thing... usually." Suddenly, he brightened and looked into Derek's eyes. "You know, I've never slept in a hotel room before."

Derek ran his fingers over Spencer's cheek. "You haven't?"

Spencer shook his head. "I'd like to, though. I bet it's nice."

"Yeah, it is. Clean sheets, a warm bath... Come on—put on your clothes and let's go."

Spencer bit his lip. "Mm, okay, but I better tell somebody where I'm going. They get really mad when they can't find me." He gave a mischievous grin, and Derek got the feeling that the troupe spent a fair amount of time searching for Spencer.

"All right. I'll go see if I can get my fortune told real quick."

"Okay." Spencer quickly pulled on his clothes, gathered up his costume and zipped off to the caravan, while Derek strolled back to Madame Emily's table.

* * *

 

Neither of them knew they were being observed.

Hotch was in the caravan putting away props when he glanced out the back window and saw Derek walking down the hilly path. He frowned, went out the door and followed him; he soon spotted the object of Derek's interest in the cove, and he sneered, shaking his head. He stopped behind a tree, well out of sight of the pair.

A moment later, Gideon quietly came up and joined him, following his gaze down the hill. "What's going on?"

Hotch nudged his chin in the direction of the two, and the men watched as Derek took Spencer in his arms and kissed him.

Hotch sighed irritably. "I thought you were going to do something about that."

Gideon gave a wry laugh. "I tried. Spencer wouldn't let me. Says he's a good man."

"Hmph. I'm sure he'll be thrilled with him after he runs off and leaves him tomorrow. It's hard enough getting that kid to keep his mind on his work without dealing with a case of love-sickness."

"Well, it's too late to change that. Anyway, it'll be a good lesson for the boy. He needs to become a little more selective about where he places his trust."

Hotch nodded, then added, "Did you take care of the other...?"

"Oh, yeah. All done." He smiled slightly, then turned and went to bring the horses around to hitch up to the wagon. Hotch started to follow, but stopped as Spencer, now fully dressed, came running up to him, smiling excitedly.

"Hey, Hotch—Derek's going to take me to his hotel room for the night."

"What?"

"Yeah! He's going to buy me dinner and everything." The boy sounded completely delighted, but Hotch gave him a dour shake of the head.

"I'm sorry, Spencer. I can't let you do that."

Spencer's face fell, but then he looked angry. "Why? Are you still mad because I borrowed the money?"

Hotch rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You didn't borrow it, light-fingers, you _stole_ it. But, no, I'm not angry, because I knew exactly where it was. It's just... distasteful, having to track down my cash while you're on your back, getting buggered by some stranger."

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but you _do_ owe me two weeks pay. I was just settling up between us. Without asking, I admit, but still." He smirked, thinking of Derek's face when Hotch had walked in on them, and then he added, "You still owe me the wages, by the way."

Hotch glared at him, but he pulled out his wallet and counted out some bills and handed them to the boy. "There, now for God's sake, shut up about it. But, regardless, that's not why you can't spend the night in town. It's just that we're hitting the road first thing in the morning, and we don't have time to wait for you to drag yourself home at no-telling-what late hour. And, anyway, I'll need your help breaking camp."

Spencer looked up as he put the money in his pocket. "Why the hurry?"

"Gideon ended up having some business to do. We need to leave at first light."

Spencer stared at him a moment, but then just looked deflated. He gave a reluctant nod. "Oh. All right... I'll go tell Derek."

"Oh, please. Don't look so sad. It's not as if he couldn't be persuaded to spend the night with you in camp," Hotch said dryly.

"Maybe." Spencer smiled a little. "I'll go ask him. It really doesn't matter to me where we are, I just want to be with him as long as possible."

Hotch regarded the young man. As infuriating as Spencer could be, Hotch _did_ actually care about him and didn't like seeing him unhappy. Not that the lad ever listened to his advice, but he felt obligated to try. "Spencer, listen—"

"Yes?"

"You do know he's leaving town tomorrow. You won't be seeing him again."

Spencer's jaw tightened, but he shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But, I don't care. I just... I like being with him. Even if it's only for a night."

"You're going to get hurt."

"No. I know what I'm doing."

Hotch quirked an eyebrow. "If past experience tells us anything, I seriously doubt that," he said lightly. Then, he turned serious. "You know you don't need him. Remember what Gideon said—you're meant for better things."

The air seemed to drop several degrees, making Hotch shiver. He waited for the boy to answer, but he was looking up through the trees, toward the moon sitting high in the sky, and they stood there in silence for a long moment. Finally, Spencer said softly, "Maybe I don't want those things. Maybe I want Derek."

Hotch took his chin and brought his gaze downward, peering sternly at him. "And, you think he feels the same? Don't fool yourself. You know perfectly well what he wants from you." He paused, noting the boy's resentful scowl. "You're just an easy lay to him."

"That's not true." Spencer's voice was like steel. "He's kind, and he cares about me." His breathing was now coming hard, and he spat, "You don't know anything about him."

"And, you do?" Hotch asked scornfully.

"I've seen his soul." He stared into Hotch's eyes, holding his gaze with what felt to the older man like a spark of lightening, and then he turned to go find Derek.

A shock ran through the older man, leaving him feeling weak and depleted, as if the boy had claimed all his body's energy for himself. _"He's getting stronger, now,"_ he thought.

He had to force himself to shake it off as he went to help Gideon with the horses.

 

* * *

 

_"I've seen his soul..."_

Morgan's eyes snapped open and for a horrific moment his muscles were useless and he couldn't move; he felt a weight on his chest, smothering him. He could have sworn someone... something?...was in the room with him, but he could only turn his head slightly in one direction, and he didn't see anything unusual.

Then, suddenly, he was free to move again, and in his mind he could hear Reid's lecture-voice intoning, _"Hypnagogic sleep paralysis, also known as isolated sleep paralysis, is characterized by complete muscle atonia and sometimes features hallucinations. It often occurs during interrupted REM sleep, and is common among individuals suffering from various anxiety disorders, including PTSD..."_

Morgan sat up in bed, his terror fading, replaced by rueful amusement that, once again, he knew more about something he cared absolutely nothing about than he rightfully should, due to having been subjected to one of the genius's long-winded expositions on the topic. It was the same with Star Wars and Star Trek and, lately, Dr. Who.

It annoyed him to no end that he knew what a TARDIS was.

"Hypnogogic sleep paralysis... _Shit."_ Morgan chuckled grimly to himself. Reid would be pleased to hear that one of his idle musings had infiltrated Morgan's brain enough that he was able to remember the term, although he'd be sure to make a point of informing him of one simple fact—that knowing what a thing is called doesn't make it any less terrifying.

He reached for his phone to check the time, but his hand came to rest on the empty journal Reid had given him. He picked it up and stared at it; after a moment, he took a pen and quickly began scribbling, blinking to clear his sleep-clouded eyes.

He wrote until the sharpness of the dream eased a bit and he found himself straining to remember details. His phone's alarm went off and he rolled out of bed, headed for his hotel room shower. Once he was dressed and ready to face the day, he strode toward the door, but as he put his hand on the knob, he paused.

He went back, picked up the journal, and then hastened downstairs to meet the team.

 

* * *

 

"Turn right at the next light."

Reid was peering at a map laid out across his lap, navigating for Morgan as he drove them toward the unsub's dump site. It would be a long drive, miles outside the city limits, and Morgan knew that once they left civilization, he'd be dependent on Reid's interpretation of the hand-drawn instructions the local sheriff had provided for them, in lieu of sending an officer to go with them. Their small force was already stretched thin, and the rest of the team was busy interviewing witnesses and visiting the abduction sites.

Hotch had given them their assignments earlier that morning and he'd watched Morgan's reaction to the idea of going on a long car ride alone with Reid, a mixture of dismay and reluctant acceptance evident on his face. Hotch met Morgan's suspiciously raised eyebrows with a slight shrug.

Morgan was still acting as if he were slogging through a field of Jello, and Hotch really hoped that having some uninterrupted time alone with Reid would help him get over whatever dream-induced confusion he was suffering. Hotch couldn't care less whether the two men ended up falling into bed together, or having a knock-down, drag-out fight over the situation, as long as they did it on their own time and he managed to get his senior agent back in good form, 100% focused on the case.

But clearly, Morgan wasn't about to take the initiative without a little shove.

Morgan made the turn and after a few miles, the scenery gave way to long runs of open land with mountains in the background. Reid was poring over a document and referring back to the map from time to time. "It doesn't make sense. Judging by the irregularity in his choice of hunting grounds, he's not anchored to any one spot. Why does he keep dumping them in the same place every time?"

"Maybe that's the point. Maybe there's something about the area that means something to him."

"But, the locals said there's nothing there."

"Yeah. Well, I guess we'll get a better idea of it when we see it for ourselves."

Morgan drove on, not wanting to disturb the young profiler's thoughts, but he took note when Reid put down the materials and began gazing out the window. He hesitated for a second, but then went ahead and spoke.

"So, I started using the dream journal you gave me."

Reid turned to look at him, a pleased expression crossing his face. "Really? Wow, that's great—I was afraid you'd blow it off."

Morgan shrugged. "Well, given the... weirdness of my dreams, I figure I need all the help I can get."

"They're still disturbing you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Okay, what did you dream last night?"

"Uh, well, it was a continuation of what I dreamed the night before."

Reid looked up sharply. "A continuation? Wait, you didn't tell me you were having serial dreams. For how long?"

"Actually, it's been going on since that first night, the one I told you about where you spoke French."

Morgan was aware that Reid was staring at him. He shrugged and asked, "What?"

Reid pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That's extremely unusual. I mean, recurring dreams are fairly common, but to have sequential, continuous dreams? That's pretty rare."

"Really?" Given Reid's probing manner, Morgan thought he now knew what a lab rat felt like. "So, does that mean there's something wrong with me?"

"No, no, of course not. It probably has to do with changes you're experiencing in one particular part of your life." Reid cocked his head sideways. "Maybe you should give me a little more detail about what's been going on in the dreams."

Morgan sighed, quickly reducing his four dreams down to a basic outline of the story that seemed to be unfolding in his sleep, leaving out any references to his dream-self's sexual attraction to dream-Spencer.

"...So, Gideon seems to be kind of a shady character, and Hotch ended up giving you the money he owed you. So, what could that possibly mean? I mean, why would I dream of Gideon as a bad guy? And, why the hell would I care whether or not Hotch paid you your missing wages?"

Reid was quiet, busy sorting through the avalanche of information Morgan had just dropped on him. "Hm, money keeps turning up in your dreams. And, I seem to keep stealing it."

Morgan chuckled. "Yeah, you're a real little scamp in them, that's for sure."

"Well, money typically symbolizes power. It can represent self-worth and success. Maybe you're having issues with self-confidence, for some reason. Or, maybe you're feeling that some aspect of your well-being is being taken away from you."

"I don't think so."

"It may not literally have to do with success, it could be your emotional strength that's being sapped. Are you worried about something? Your family, maybe?"

Morgan shook his head. "No, uh-uh. Everything's been fine. What do you think about the Gideon thing? He's been gone for years. Why would he turn up as a villain?"

"Gideon disappointed all of us. At one point, he was definitely a source of emotional strength, for me at least. Maybe you, too? And, you resent him for leaving and taking that resource with him?"

Morgan shrugged as he continued to stare at the road through the windshield of the SUV. "I don't know, kid. I appreciated Gideon, but... I can't say I've missed him all that much." He stole a glance at his teammate, then asked, "My biggest question, really, is... why do I keep dreaming about _you?"_

Reid looked over at him. There was an uncertain sound in Morgan's voice that he'd never heard before. He bit his lip before answering. "Uh... Well, I don't know. I mean, I must symbolize some aspect of yourself, your personality. I'm your friend, and also your co-worker, and we've been through a lot together. Of course, you're physically stronger and more adept at the job than I am. Maybe I represent some... vulnerable part of yourself, some aspect that you're not satisfied with." Reid shifted and went back to gazing out the window, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand.

_Vulnerable._ There was that word again. Morgan picked up on a slightly hurt tone as the young man spoke, and it left him feeling bewildered. Morgan had never thought of Reid as weak, or even as being particularly unsuited for the job, certainly not since the early days. They all had their strengths, and, yes, Reid's happened to be in the area of intellect, but that didn't mean his skills in the field weren't up to par.

"Hey, man—I have no idea what my crazy subconscious has to say for itself, but I never thought of you that way."

"You didn't?"

"Hell, no. I mean, I may treat you like a little brother, tease you and shit, but that's just me. I trust you. And, you got stones, man, you've done shit I wouldn't touch on my best day. I... I admire you, Reid. I guess I never told you that, but I do. And, if my dreams are using you to express something... vulnerable about myself, well, I don't understand that. You're one of the best guys I know."

Reid dropped his hand and looked back at Morgan. "Wow. Thanks. That... that means a lot to me."

They drove on into the less-and-less populated area, and both were quiet until Morgan finally sighed, and said, "Listen... There's something else about these dreams I haven't told you."

"Okay. What's that?"

"There's a... sexual component to them."

"Oh?"

Morgan nodded.

Reid shrugged. "Well, that's another common symbol. Sex in a dream may represent an unfulfilled desire." He smiled slightly. "So, who are you, uh, having sex with?"

Morgan swallowed hard before answering. He kept his eyes trained on the road.

"You," he said finally.

For a fraction of a second, there was dead silence. Then, Reid broke up laughing.

"All right, fine—don't tell me. I'm sorry, of course that's none of my business."

Morgan glanced at him, somewhat relieved but also taken aback that Reid didn't believe him. Then Reid added, "It's Prentiss, right?" He was still chuckling.

"Come on, man, let's drop it."

"Aw, it's okay! I've had dreams about her a few times, myself."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. JJ, too. And, Elle."

A rueful grin tugged at Morgan's lips. "You really get busy in your dreams, don't you, kid?"

"Yeah, well... I have to have something, nothing ever happens to me in real life." Reid's smile faded and he leaned back and stared at the road ahead. Then, he straightened and added apologetically, "Hey, Morgan—listen, man. I wish I could give you more in-depth analysis of all this stuff, but I can see you're not comfortable discussing the details with me. And, that's okay. But, maybe you should see a doctor, someone trained in dream therapy. I think you're working through something significant in your subconscious, and it might help to have a professional to guide you through it."

"Aw, I really don't think it's that big of a deal. I'm probably just tired. But, thanks, I'll think about it."

"Okay. But, still, do me a favor, will you?"

"What?"

"Keep writing in the journal."

Morgan huffed slightly, but nodded.

They drove on, not speaking except for Reid's directions as they went through several twists and turns on a winding road. Eventually, they reached the dump site, got out of the SUV and began trudging toward an area a few hundred feet away, sectioned off by crime tape.

As they walked, Morgan kept musing on his and Reid's conversation. On the one hand, Morgan thought that maybe he should come clean and tell Reid the truth about his dreams. Maybe if he saw the whole picture, he really could help him figure out what it all meant. Besides, he hated leaving his friend feeling as if he didn't trust him; he did. He knew Reid was mature enough not to get freaked out by whatever sexual nonsense Morgan happened to be dreaming about him.

On the other hand, he was grateful as hell that Reid hadn't picked up on the reality behind his confession. If he were to be honest with himself, he was almost to the point of not _wanting_ to know what the dreams meant.

He just wished they'd stop.

 


End file.
